


Satin and Steel

by coloursflyaway



Series: Kingsman Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fix-It, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't even look close to as dangerous as he is and Eggsy learns to appreciate that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satin and Steel

There is a man waiting for Eggsy when he exits Holborn Police Station. He’s tall with brown hair and an umbrella hanging over his arm, although it hasn’t rained for days, and Eggsy knows his kind - he wears a suit that must have cost a fortune to cover up that the skin under his jaw is sagging slightly, that underneath the white dress shirt, his belly has gone soft. The hair, he thinks, must be dyed, his sunglasses covering up the fact that his eyes are bloodshot, or that the lids are drooping.  
Still, he is undeniably handsome, and Eggsy thinks he knows it too, everything about him is screaming confidence and wealth, but compared to the police officer he just escaped from, he is not a threat.

So when the stranger tells him that he got him released, Eggsy doesn’t think twice about going with him – should he try anything funny, he’ll be gone before the other man has even gotten his creaking bones up from his chair.

 

Eggsy watches as Harry, that stranger who had looked like he made sure not to break speed limits even when he was late for an important meeting, who looked like he could barely kill a fly, takes apart the men who have made his life hell since he was twelve years old. He moves effortlessly, as if violence was second nature to him, an art perfected until it becomes less brutal and more a graceful dance.  
He spins, ducks, deals out blows before the other men have even registered what is happening, and Eggsy finds himself captivated, almost enchanted by the terrifying beauty of the stranger’s movements.

It takes hardly more than a few minutes until the floor is covered with lifeless bodies – if they are dead or just unconscious, Eggsy can’t tell –and the stranger lets himself fall down in front of Eggsy again, the tension having left his body.  
His shoulders are slumped and his Adam’s apple bobs when he finishes his Guinness, and Eggsy can’t do anything but stare, his breath all but coming in gasps.

 

“Well, Eggsy”, Harry says and puts a hand on his shoulder, a warm, comforting weight after having been almost drowned the night before. “Although you might not have done everything perfectly, just know that you still did better than I expected.”  
It could be an insult or a compliment and Eggsy decides to take it as the latter, so instead of cursing, insulting, he just asks, “Ya aware that some girl died, aren’t ya?”

Surely Harry has just forgotten, he thinks to himself, maybe hasn’t even been told about Amelia’s untimely death, but the older man just shrugs, completely unaffected. “Unfortunate, but these things happen. No need to beat yourself up about it, my boy. You better get used to it, you’ll see more than enough people die in this line of work. The man who was Lancelot before you, he got cut in half during a mission, in fact…”  
Harry starts walking and it takes Eggsy more than just a second to follow, wondering just how someone who looks so proper, talks so gently, could think like that.

 

There are hands on his shoulders all of a sudden, a warm body pressing against his back, and Harry adjusts first his posture, then the grip Eggsy has on the knife in his hand.  
“Now you could properly stab someone in the throat”, the older man explains, tilts Eggsy’s hand just a little bit further. “Just, if you’re out on the field, make sure not to get too much blood on your suit. The stains are a nightmare.”

 

He wakes up, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily; for a moment, Eggsy isn’t sure what kind of dream has left him in this state, if it was too good or to terrifying.  
What he remembers is a broad chest, is a large hand on his hip and skilled fingers around his neck. If they were choking him or just holding him in place, he cannot tell anymore, but as his heart starts to slow down again, he notices that below the soft sheets, his cock is hard, leaking.

Biting a curse, Eggsy scans the room; through some kind of miracle, he managed not to wake anyone else, so Eggsy allows his hand to travel down his body, wraps his fingers around the hard shaft and tries not to moan a too-familiar name when he comes.

 

“…so no, I haven’t killed anyone using just a pair of nail clippers yet”, Harry concludes, takes a sip of his tea, seemingly unaware that Eggsy can’t get his mouth to close.  
“But ya seriously maimed someone with just a pair o’ nail clippers.”  
“Well, yes. But that is beside the point, isn’t it? She did get out of that room alive.”

 

On screen, Professor Arnold’s head explodes, and Eggsy looks back at Harry, who seems to be perfectly at ease, handsome as always although he just woke up from a coma.  
The explanation comes and apparently it wasn’t Harry who blew up the guy’s head, but it doesn’t help much – the fact that Harry was so unaffected by the footage remains and the fact that Eggsy doesn’t know what to think does too.  
Because he knows that he should be horrified, should run as far as he possibly can from that man, who talks about poisons over dinner and ways to kill someone with a pencil or a piece of gum while sparring and yet, he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to get closer, spends his lunch breaks at Harry’s bedside or looking at what footage is left of the older man’s earlier missions, dreams of soft brown hair and softer, darker eyes.

 

Harry is looking down at him with an unreadable expression and Eggsy’s heart is still racing from almost being killed by the oncoming train; it’s the only reason it doesn’t pick up its pace when he sets eyes on the older man. He’s holding a knife, dressed to the nines as always and Eggsy is suddenly so very aware of the rope around his wrists and ankles, holding him down, in place; what had been terrifying mere moments ago feels completely different now.

“Bloody well done”, Harry praises him, and all Eggsy can do after months and months of training try to ignore how the tips of his ears are burning, his mouth is suddenly too dry.

 

Being met with Harry’s rage makes him feel furious, being met with his disappointment smaller, weaker than ever.  
The other man looks like Eggsy has thrown away everything, and maybe he has, but maybe Harry will fix everything once he comes back.

 

Harry never comes back, lies dead on the Kentucky soil, and Eggsy saves the world, finds his own rhythm to the dance the older man taught him so well, gets his cuffs covered in blood, which will stain quite terribly, kills a girl with the poison-coated blade that Harry showed him what feels like an eternity ago.

Somehow, it still feels like the other is watching out for him.

 

Eggsy has not yet managed to get the blood out of his dress shirt, his suit, and Harry comes back from the country he died in, looking like a dead man walking and yet better than anything Eggsy has ever seen, because he’s alive and that is all that matters.

 

There is only one eye left in Harry’s head, but a gun in his hands, long, skilled fingers curled around the metal, keeping it steady as he aims, fires.  
The shot isn’t perfect, but still punches a hole into the paper figure and Eggsy is captivated as always, his eyes glued to Harry’s hands, his bared forearms where the other has rolled up his sleeves.  
“I missed this”, Harry comments lightly and Eggsy answers without thinking, in almost the same tone.  
“I missed ya.”

The words, as soon as they have left his mouth, make Eggsy freeze in mid-motion, terrified of his own tongue all of a sudden. Even Harry, who doesn’t seem to be fazed by anything, not even death, stands there motionlessly, and Eggsy thinks he should try and take it back, and yet doesn’t want to.  
He let the Harry get killed without knowing once, he doesn’t want to go through that ever again.  
“I missed ya”, he repeats, his voice shaking and yet growing steadier and steadier as he continues talking. “When ya were gone, I mean. Because ya were there, all that time, and I thought ya’d always be there, I thought ya only killed, not that ya’d get hurt…and I could never tell ya anythin’, I never even thought about doin’ it, since… since ya lethal, Harry, that’s what ya are, dangerous. An’ I was scared _an’ I still am_ , but I missed ya. So much.”

Harry is looking at him, nothing else, and the sight of the eyepatch covering what is left of the other’s eye pains Eggsy, makes him want to brush his fingertips over the gnarled scar covering the side of Harry’s face, wants to trace the still sharp line of his face.  
Part of him is still scared of the older man, part of him is scared _for_ him and yet most of him sees what he saw the first time he set eyes on Harry – a man, nothing more and nothing less, one who could easily kill him with his bare hands and yet someone who might ache to be touched gently just as much as Eggsy is.

As if he couldn’t hold it back, Harry breathes out his name and Eggsy feels his skin prickle, not sure what he is to expect.  
The other is still holding the gun when he reaches out, and Eggsy flinches despite himself; Harry’s gaze drops to his hand, eye widening, and he drops the weapon as if the metal was suddenly searing hot. “You can’t think– I never would-“  
His voice sounds different now, softer, almost hollow, he isn’t quite meeting Eggsy’s eyes, and suddenly, he’s not dangerous at all.  
“No, no, of course not”, Eggsy is quick to reassure, taking half a step forward and almost regretting it a second later, when Harry looks up at him, because this is nothing he could ever have planned for; he never thought he would be so right.

Harry doesn’t look like Galahad, doesn’t look dangerous, lethal, like a bomb just waiting to be detonated, he looks as close to vulnerable as Eggsy has ever seen him, like he is just as unsure what to do as Eggsy is.  
And if Eggsy hadn’t been absolutely gone for him by now, he would be now, because Harry Hart is imposing and breath-taking and beautiful as an agent, but he looks like someone who could love, and be loved right now.

His feet must be moving on their own volition, because Eggsy would never dare to tell them to get this close to Harry, his hands must have decided to ignore what his brain is telling them because no matter if dead or alive, if lethal or vulnerable, Eggsy would never have the audacity to reach out and lace their fingers together, his own, clumsy ones and Harry’s, who could still kill him, take him apart so easily.  
The touch is enough to frighten the air out of Eggsy’s lungs, even more so than the kiss that follows, because Eggsy’s body brings them closer, unable to stop now when he can feel the warmth of Harry’s skin, can smell his cologne, the faint scent of washing detergent.

It’s chaste, because even Eggsy’s treacherous lips aren’t bold enough to part, to let his tongue try and lick into the other’s mouth; already, it’s too much to comprehend.  
Harry stays motionless apart from a soft sigh he breathes out against Eggsy’s lips, but there are no hands gently steering him away, no refusal, so Eggsy allows himself to hope that he has read the signs right when he pulls back, immediately missing the older man’s warmth.

Harry’s eye is closed, flutters open, unfocussed for a few moments, and Eggsy feels his heartbeat like he would feel gunshots, each of them ripping through his chest so forcefully they almost make him stagger.  
If he could, he’d ask for a reaction, no matter what kind, but it’s now when Harry is so painfully quiet that his words decide to fail him.

“I’m dangerous”, Harry tells him after a few, torturous seconds and doesn’t say anything at all, because that is something Eggsy has found out months ago.  
“I know.”  
“I might hurt you.”  
“I might want ya to.”  
The answer makes Harry suck in a breath and suddenly, Eggsy knows how this will end, can feel the knowledge make his lips tingle with kisses they have not yet shared.

“Tell me to stop”, Harry mutters, his hand squeezing Eggsy’s, and he almost sounds like he is pleading, even while Eggsy is moving closer.  
“I won’t.”  
It’s all but a promise and Eggsy sees it in the other’s eyes that Harry knows it, but still doesn’t quite believe. “I won’t”, he repeats, and kisses Harry again.  
And this time, Harry kisses back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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